


weathering storms (and other romantic recreational activities)

by ShowMeAHero



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Everyone Is Alive, F/M, Family, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Huddling For Warmth, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, Post-Canon, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:13:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25452208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowMeAHero/pseuds/ShowMeAHero
Summary: "Do you see a car down there?" Jim asks. Jane leans forward, bracing her hands against the dashboard to keep herself steady."Yes," she says. She turns to look at him. "Should we stop and help?"
Relationships: Joyce Byers/Jim "Chief" Hopper
Comments: 7
Kudos: 49





	weathering storms (and other romantic recreational activities)

**Author's Note:**

> dare i venture into writing for stranger things? dare i???

Don't ask Jim how he knows that Jane is fucking with the radio without touching it. He just  _ knows. _

"Can you quit messing with that?" he asks, reaching out to turn the volume down manually. The sound keeps rattling out of the Blazer's shitty little speakers, just lower now, sliding down to a hum. The familiar electrical crackle that accompanies all of Jane's mumbo-jumbo buzzes around them, a silent, charged energy that Jim's grown to trust, he thinks.

"There's no good songs playing," Jane points out. Jim sighs.

"What was wrong with Elvis?" Jim asks.

"Jonathan says Elvis is from the old school," Jane tells him. "We listen to punk rock now."

"Oh, we do?" Jim asks. "Who's  _ we?" _

"Me and Jonathan and Will," Jane answers. Jim sighs, but he silently feels a warm answering buzz, similar to Jane’s energetic hum, responding in his chest. He's felt it before, and moreso recently: it's family, he thinks.

"Of course," Jim replies. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Because you can hear us listening to music," Jane tells him. He glances at her to see her brow furrowed. All he can do is ruffle her hair, making her shout wordlessly at him, swatting his hand away. It doesn't do much to convey the emotion in him, but at least it's something.

"Not literally, kid," Jim says. "And besides, when you—"

Jim cuts himself off mid-sentence. He squints through the rain down the hill ahead of them.

"What is it?" Jane asks.

"Do you see a car down there?" Jim asks. Jane leans forward, bracing her hands against the dashboard to keep herself steady.

"Yes," she says. She turns to look at him. "Should we stop and help?"

Jim sighs again. He doesn't really  _ want  _ to stop and get out of the car in a thunderstorm, but it really  _ is _ pissing rain and he  _ is _ the sheriff, even if he's not on duty. It feels wrong to just  _ not  _ help someone in need.

"Yeah, probably," Jim says. He looks to Jane and says, "It's important to, you know. Help other people."

"I know," Jane replies. Like it's that simple. He wishes vaguely that the whole world were more like her.

"Alright, well, you stay in the car, I'm going to… see…" Jim trails off. The closer they get to the bottom of the hill, the more familiar the car gets. He feels a cold chill go down his spine, ice water coursing through his veins as they pull up behind it and he recognizes exactly whose car this is.

"Is that Mom's?" Jane demands, whirling to face him. Jim's chest twists at her referring to Joyce as  _ Mom _ right now, just as his heart's starting to pound with fear over finding Joyce's car smoking at the bottom of a hill in a storm.

"Stay here," Jim instructs her.

"But—"

_ "Right here," _ Jim says firmly. "Keep a lookout for me. If you see anything, throw on the lights and the siren, I'll run back over here. You remember how to turn 'em on?"

"Yes," Jane says through clenched teeth.  _ Good enough. _

"Stay  _ here,"  _ Jim repeats before leaving the Blazer. The rain instantly drenches him head to toe, and he groans out loud, slamming the door to the Blazer shut. He can hear Jane turn up the volume on the radio before he's too far away to catch it anymore through the pounding rain.

Smoke is steadily seeping out from underneath the front hood of the car; Jim approaches from the back, leaning in to look through the back windshield. There doesn't look like there's anybody in the car, and he frowns.

"Joyce?" he calls. A harsh gust of wind bites into his exposed face and arms, cold snapping against his skin, and he shouts again,  _ "Joyce!" _ He slips his flashlight off his belt and aims it directly into the car through the side window. Still nothing. The front seat doesn't turn up anyone, either.

Jim looks up the hill they came, then looks up the hill they're about to go up. To either side of them is woods and river, which could only make a mess of mud in a storm like this.

As if on cue, lightning strikes nearby, lighting up the sky just before thunder crashes overhead. He can hear Jane yelp from inside the Blazer, but she's pretending she didn't when he turns back to look at her, shielding his eyes from the rain with his hands.

Jane rolls her window down and sticks her head out to shout, "Where are they?"

"I don't know!" he shouts back, throwing his arms wide. The flashlight bounces off the trees, soaked in rain and nighttime darkness. He cups his hands around his mouth and shouts,  _ "Joyce, Jonathan, Will Byers, can you hear me?" _

Still nothing. The sun set two hours ago, now. He has no  _ idea  _ how long Joyce's car has even  _ been _ here. Abruptly, his brain tells him,  _ they’re gone again,  _ and he wants to scream. He thinks of the Upside Down and of monsters and of going where he can’t follow, and he feels like he’s about to lose his mind.

Jogging back to the Blazer, Jim tries to remember where Joyce said she'd be today. She had the late morning shift, so she'd be done by six o'clock, and then she said she was going to pick up Will from Mike's before dinner, and that was about an hour ago. Jim hasn't talked to her since she left for work that morning; he and Jane had driven into the city after school for Jane's appointment with her therapy-doctor, the one who helps her mentally instead of physically. All he really knows is that it helps. Sometimes, he has to go in and sit and listen to what Jane has to say, and he's usually so overwhelmed with pride that he hugs her outside in the parking lot afterwards for a minute too long. She always squeezes him back just as tight, though, so he hasn't started letting go yet.

"What do we do?" Jane demands once Jim's back in the car. He shakes water out of his hair and wipes it off his face with his shaking hands.

"Start looking," Jim says. He tries to keep the fear out of his voice and off his face, tries to keep the tremor out of his hands as he starts the Blazer back up and peels out into the road.

* * *

Another freezing gust of wind slaps Joyce hard across the face, and she shivers, teeth slamming together even as she tries to force her jaw to stop chattering and be  _ still. _

"Take the coat, Mom," Will tells her, holding her coat back up and out to her. He's shouting over the rain so she can hear him, but she's not sure she has the energy to shout back. She just waves him off.  _ "Mom—" _

"Will, honey, I'm  _ fine,"  _ Joyce forces out through her clenched teeth. "Just— Just keep walking, okay?"

"Okay," Will says again. She knows he'll try again in another minute or so, but that's just him. He wouldn't be himself if he didn't. Selfless to a fault.

She tries to ignore the cold that's seeped down into her bone marrow. Her limbs have long since gone tingly-numb, staticky in the balls of her feet up to her knees and through her hands up to her elbows, but she keeps moving anyways. Her clothes are plastered to her skin like a second skin, the wind freezing it tight against her whenever it surges again. She rubs at her chest with frozen fingers, trying to warm it, but the action doesn't  _ do  _ anything.

Her head and her chest hurt the worst, and they're starting to make it difficult for her to focus. Her chest feels like a block of ice all the way through, making her shake uncontrollably, earthquake-tremors that rumble up her spine and through her bones. Right beside her heart,  _ right  _ in the center of her chest, she feels frozen solid. Like she'll never get warm again. The back of her head is aching with the cold, pulsing through to her eyes and her jaw, down to her chattering teeth, and the cycle begins all over.

"Mom, just take it," Will insists again. Joyce shakes her head.

She can't keep the water off of her face, but she tries anyways, just so she can keep an eye on Will. She's trying to push them to keep walking up, to follow the hill all the way to its end until they get to the gas station she  _ knows  _ is around here somewhere. Once they get inside, dry off, warm up — then,  _ then,  _ everything will be okay.

Will's shivering, too, she realizes, which isn't a good sign. He has his own windbreaker on and her jacket held over his head; he's trying to angle himself over her, but he's only just barely taller than her, and she keeps pushing the jacket back over his head. He's wet enough as it is without making it  _ worse,  _ when she's not about to get any drier. She doesn't know why he didn't just  _ stay in the car,  _ but he insisted that she not go out alone, and part of her was too proud of him for that to say no.

Now, she wishes she  _ had  _ said no, seeing him start to shake like she is. Well, like she  _ was; _ she's not shaking so much anymore. She claps her numb hands together, then rubs up her arms, trying to get any heat,  _ any  _ friction,  _ anything.  _ It doesn't work. She's soaked through and her hands just slip over the layer of slick water over her skin and clothes.

Will's arm hooks through hers, tugging her back into a straight line along the side of the road.

"Mom?" he asks. She squints through the water at him. "Should we stop and find cover, maybe?"

Joyce can't make her brain loop together two thoughts in a row, but she knows it's important she tries. She focuses on Will's face,  _ Will Will Will, keep Will safe, _ and says, "No, not yet. We need to get somewhere we can— can get warm and dry." Her voice shakes and nearly falls to pieces, but she gets it out. Will gives up on listening to her, ignoring her when she scolds him with, "No, Will, put that back over your—  _ Will—" _

"Just take the coat, Mom!" Will shouts. She turns to grab the coat and push it back over his head, but she slips on the slick ground. Will’s fingers wrap around her arm to keep her from falling and whacking her head, but he catches her sideways and her ankle twists sharply under her. She cries out, stumbling to get her other foot under her.

_ "Fuck,"  _ Joyce spits, righting herself using Will's arm. He's actually taller than she realized; she doesn't know how he keeps growing so much so fast. He's not as tall as his friends, will never be all that tall with her for a mother, but he's already got at least three inches on her and she's abruptly reminded he's her baby, but no longer  _ a  _ baby.

"Mom," Will says, gripping her tightly by the shoulders. "Mom, hey, are you okay?"

Joyce gets herself to nod. She catches his wrist and tries to stand back up, but her ankle buckles.

"Wait, wait, stop," Will says. He looks over his shoulder, starts to say, "Here, come sit—" but then he gasps and starts waving one arm above his head.

"Is someone there?" Joyce asks. When she lifts her head, she can't actually see past the rain. Briefly, there's a flash of light; she thinks it might just be lightning.

In the next instant, she hears the squeal of tires on wet pavement, the rustling kick-up of loose gravel, and the  _ click-slam _ of a car door being open and shut.

"What happened?" someone's demanding. She _ knows _ this someone, she _ does; _ she realizes it's Jim's voice the second before his hands touch her face, cupping her cheeks. "Joyce? Will, what happened?"

"The car broke down," Will explains, voice raised over the rain. It cracks halfway through, and Joyce remembers again he's growing up, and she feels  _ sad.  _ Through her fuzzy thoughts, she knows this logically isn't something to cry over  _ now,  _ but it feels overwhelming and tragic and inevitable and it all crashes over her at once.

"Whoa, hey, it's okay," Jim says. Joyce laughs breathlessly, trying to push away from him, but he just tightens his grip on her, holds her tighter.

'She was worried about the exhaust," Will keeps explaining. Jim tries to get them to move closer to the car; she realizes she'd seen high beams, not lightning, but she can't put weight on her twisted ankle without collapsing, so it’s up to Jim to get her to the Blazer. "She said she was gonna walk and I didn't think she should go alone, so I just— I just went—"

"You did a good job, kid," Jim tells him. Joyce wants to thank him for reassuring Will when she's struggling to get the words to come to her mouth, but she can't even manage to say that much. Wind whips past them, filling her ears and her head with the stuffing of the storm until she can't see or hear anything else.

"Is she okay?" Will asks.

"Get the back door, okay?" Jim shouts. Joyce can hear gravel kicking up under Will's feet as he runs. Without warning, Jim's voice is much closer, but it feels clearer like that. Joyce leans into him. "I'm gonna pick you up, okay?"

"Mkay," Joyce allows. She turns her face into his rain-slick jacket, instinctively reaching to push her hands into his pockets like she likes to do, to tease him. He pulls her arms back out, though, and pins them down, and she frowns.

"I'll let you eat one of my Reese's cups once we're in the car, hon, okay?" Jim tells her. "We gotta get you in the car. I'm gonna pick you up, Joyce. Tell me you're not gonna freak out when I do."

"'M not gonna freak out," she tells him, still frowning. His hands leave her face and slide lower; for a moment, she almost forgets what's happening. Then, the world's blurring and she's feeling like she's airborne, almost, before she's secured in his arms and against his chest.

"I gotcha," Jim tells her. She wraps her arms around his neck and hangs on tight. "You're okay, Joyce. I gotcha."

Joyce just nods, limbs aching and frozen and numb, chest cold and spine icy, her head and heart throbbing as rain and tears blur her vision. She shuts her eyes and exhales shakily.

"Just keep her head up in your lap," Jim says. She can feel his low voice rumbling through his chest. "I'm gonna lay you down, Joyce, alright? Jane's got your head."

"Will?" Joyce asks.  _ Where's Will,  _ she wants to ask,  _ Where'd he go, I can't see him,  _ but she can't get her mouth to cooperate and it's pissing her off as much as it's exhausting her. She's  _ exhausted. _

"He's sitting up front with some blankets and the heater," Jim tells her. "Jane's gonna lay down back here with you and keep you warm, alright?"

"Okay," Joyce manages. Jim has to lean in and down at an awkward angle to set her down in the backseat, but he manages it without giving either of them a concussion. Jane guides Joyce's head into her lap and frowns down at her once she sees her.

"Mom," Jane says. Joyce smiles, making her stiff arm bend up to touch Jane's cheek. She flinches from the cold; her skin is so,  _ so  _ warm, blazing hot, and Joyce is nearly shocked by it.

"Just hang on a sec, Joyce, we're gonna get you home," Jim says, but Joyce is already closing her eyes. She yawns, twisting away from El.

"Dad, she's falling asleep," Jane reports nervously. "What do I do?"

"Joyce, hey," Jim says sharply. He reaches back and grabs Joyce's hand, squeezing it tight. Joyce squints up at him through the darkness and the glare of the passing streetlights. "Hang in there, alright? I'm gonna get you home and you'll be just fine."

"M’kay," Joyce agrees easily. Now, she's more tired than anything. She tries to squeeze his hand back, but she doesn't know if she manages to make her fingers cooperate. They're too numb for her to know, anyways.

Joyce releases Jim's hand and reaches for the passenger seat instead. She can't see Will, for a brief moment, but then he twists around and catches her hand in both of his. His hair's all plastered to his head, cheeks flushed, skin wet, his clothes stuck to him, and he looks like he's crying. She tries to sit up to wipe off his face, but Will and Jane both push her back down.

"It's okay, Mom," Will says. Joyce blinks sluggishly again, still tired. "Jane, what do I do?"

"I don't know!" Jane exclaims. Joyce only belatedly realizes she's shut her eyes; she's too sleepy to open them back up anytime soon.

She thinks Jim might reply to something one of the kids says, but she can't really hear it over the hammering of the rain on the windows and the car roof. Far, far away, there's lightning again, more thunder; it rolls through the sky and vibrates through the car, making her shake. She reaches out to try and find Jim’s hand again, or Will’s, anyone’s, but she can’t make her hand move. She feels like she’s dragging through syrup.

“J’m,” she manages to force out. She tries to lift her head.

“We’re almost home, Joyce, honey, okay?” Jim tells her. “Hang on, and we’ll get you warm and dry and everything’ll be just fine, okay?”

Joyce just makes herself nod. She tips her head back to look up through the window as rain and leaves fly by outside, and she closes her eyes again.

* * *

“I think she fell asleep,” Jane says, panicked. Her voice has the edge of a tremble to it, but she’s keeping a level head, and Jim’s stupid proud of her for it. “What do we do?”

“Start getting off the wet outside layers of her clothes,” Jim instructs her. He looks to Will in the passenger seat beside him and says, “You, too, kid. You can’t be feeling good right about now.”

“I’m f-fine,” Will tells him, but he’s shivering, too. In the rear view mirror, Jim can see Jane starting to tug Joyce’s soaking-wet sweater off over her head. Her arms get tangled in the sleeves, drenched and knotted, but Jane yanks her free. “Are we almost home?”

“Yeah, we’re almost home, hold on,” Jim says, reaching over to clap Will’s shoulder and grip him tight. He feels grounded just touching him, knowing he and Joyce are safe and in the car with him, even if they still have a way to go before they’re both actually okay.

He can tell from the touch, too, that Will’s freezing cold and shaking. He pushes at his jacket, says, “Get this thing off,” and starts pulling off his own coat.

“I don’t need—”

“Yes, you do,” Jim tells him. He tugs his sleeve off with his teeth so he can toss the coat at Will. “Put that on, try to dry your hair. Jane, how’s Joyce doing?”

“She’s still asleep,” Jane says. “What do I do?”

“Just try and wake her up and talk to her,” Jim says. His heart’s racing, hands slick with sweat and rainwater. He’s trying to drive safely, hyper-aware of Will and Jane twisting around to shout at each other, of Joyce laying down in the backseat, but he can’t stop himself from flying down the roads. He manages to make it all the way to the end of the familiar driveway before Joyce gasps.

“She’s awake,” Jane says. When he looks into the rear view again, Joyce is looking right back at him, big eyes clouded and wild.

“We’re pulling in right now,” Jim says, heart pounding. “Joyce? Hey, honey, can you answer me?”

“Mm,” she mumbles. He focuses on speeding up the long driveway and coming to a halt right outside the door. His pulse is still racing as he throws the door to the Blazer open.

“Alright, give her here,” he tells Jane. She helps Joyce sit up a bit so she can wrap her arms around Jim’s neck again, clinging loosely to his front. All he has to do is scoop her up like the nothing she weighs.

“You two alright getting inside?” Jim asks.

“We’re good,” Will shouts back over the rain. He’s already standing on the porch, house key in hand, forcing open the front door; Jane runs ahead of them to swing it wide once he’s got it unlocked. Together, they clear a path for him to bring Joyce right inside and to the sofa.

“What do we do?” Jane asks.

“You, go get blankets and towels from the closet in the hall,” Jim tells her. He turns to Will and says, “You, go take a hot shower, warm yourself up. Then dry off real good and get in dry clothes and come back here, alright?”

Will nods and sprints down the hall, no hesitation. Jane follows him silently, but she’s only gone a minute before she’s back with her arms full of fabric. The pile’s spilling over her head, but he takes it from her before she drops anything.

“Help me get her wet clothes off,” Jim says. Jane doesn’t hesitate before she acts, either. It’s a great couple of kids the two of them are raising; smart,  _ good  _ kids, Jonathan included, that he’s impossibly proud of. It hurts not to have Sara here with them, to be a part of his family physically, but the older he gets, the more he sees her in the bright, sudden way Jane will laugh that sounds like her, or in the stories Will tells that remind him so much of hers.

It’s like she’s there, sometimes, when he first wakes up in the morning. He’ll feel like he could go to shower and there would be an extra toothbrush in the holder by the sink; he’ll think that he could go into the kitchen for breakfast and there’d be an extra place set, waiting for her. There never is, and the moment passes as quickly as it comes, but those brief glimpses leave him fucking  _ wanting. _

It doesn’t escape him that all of this could vanish in a second. It doesn’t escape him, either, that all of this  _ has  _ vanished in a second. He  _ has  _ lost everything before, but he clawed his way back.

Now,  _ this,  _ this is  _ nothing.  _ Some cold, some rain. He can handle this. More importantly,  _ Joyce  _ can handle this.

“Is she going to be okay?” Jane asks.

Jim is about to answer with,  _ ‘She will be,’  _ when Joyce herself says, “Of course I am,” even though it comes out all mushed.

“Just lay down, don’t try to do anything or you’ll just make this worse,” Jim says, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, lowering her back down. Joyce pushes against his chest, trying to get up, but he keeps her held tight. She jerks, her head falling back into his shoulder. “Hey, hey,  _ Joyce,  _ I got you. It’s Hopper, it’s Jim, I’m right here. I’m right here.”

Joyce seems to relax, hearing his voice. She tips her head up to look at him, and he strokes her hair back out of her face. There are wet tangles all down her cheeks, her nose, stuck along her jaw. She makes a soft noise that’s almost a word; he ducks his head down, pushing strings of her hair away from his face to get closer to her mouth.

“Will?” she asks.

“He’s in the shower warming up,” Jim says. He can hear the knob for the shower twist off down the hall, so he adds, “Which is where you’re about to go. Up, up, up, let’s go.”

His heart’s hammering still, but he doesn’t feel as terrified as he had when he found Joyce’s car at the bottom of that hill without her or Will inside of it. In that brief moment where he’d thought that they were taken, he’d felt… 

He’s not even sure  _ what  _ he felt. He just knows he’s not about to feel it again anytime soon, if he can help it.

That sensation he’d had earlier, the blanket of  _ family  _ that seems to settle over them all, comes back, twisting up with the worry still lingering in his lungs because Joyce is still cold, shivering and dripping rainwater. He sets her down on the closed toilet seat just as Will is toweling off his hair.

“Hey, honey,” Joyce says to Will, finally looking at someone for longer than two seconds. Jim leaves her with Will to turn the water back on, testing it with his hand until he’s sure it’s warm enough to help, but not so hot she’ll be in pain just to feel it.

“Hi, Mom,” Will says. “I can go with Jonathan to get the car tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry,” she tells him. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Will says. The two of them are quiet, then. When Jim turns back, she’s got her arms around him, hugging him tight. He clings to her, too. Jim waits for a beat before he lets himself step in.

“Just go get your PJs on and wait in the living room, kiddo,” Jim says. Will’s far from a kid, but he doesn’t take any offense. He just lets Jim ruffle his damp hair and push him out the door of the bathroom. He shuts the door with a soft  _ click  _ behind him.

“‘M okay,” Joyce tells him tiredly.

“Sure, you are,” Jim replies. He goes to her and takes her undershirt by the hem, tugging it up and off to leave her in her wet bra and her jeans. Christ, her  _ jeans.  _ “Alright, stand up for me.”

Joyce grips Jim’s shoulder and stands, so he has no choice but to stay crouched down. She keeps her balance, and he rolls her wet jeans down her legs, an inch at a time. She’s started shivering harder, all her limbs trembling violently, her chest rattling as she tries to keep them contained, but it doesn’t work. He tries to move quickly, to get her boots off, her socks; he gets all her clothes off in no time, but she’s still shaking like a leaf.

Jim gets another idea from his old rescue trainings. He doesn’t want her to get the wrong idea, so he says, clearly and firmly, “Joyce, I’m gonna get in the shower with you. Is that okay?”

“Mm-hmm,” she mumbles. She rolls her head up to look at him, smiling even though her lips are blue and her teeth are chattering. “We’ve—We’ve sh—showered t—t—t—  _ fuck.” _

“Take it easy,” Jim says. “I just didn’t want to get a fist to the face if you thought I was putting the moves on you.”

“Y’ can put the m—m—m—moves on m—me,” Joyce tells him, grinning. Jim just laughs, feeling a little warmer. His chest loosens up a bit more at her smiling. “That’s what p—people do when they’re d—d—dating, r—right?”

“That’s right,” Jim agrees. “That’s what dating people do. Now, c’mon, up.”

She lets him scoop her up again, standing her upright in the bathtub, leaning against the wall. She watches him absently with those big, dark eyes of hers, her hair starting to stream into her face as the water falls over her front, as he strips himself bare as quick as he can. She reaches for him with a sluggish hand as he steps in, and he takes it.

“I’ve gotcha,” Jim says. He turns his back to the spray, holding her close to his chest, protecting her from the water. “There you go. Starting to warm up?”

“Mm,” she mumbles. She yawns against his chest, limbs all shaking violently. All he has to do is turn her, an inch at a time, until they’re both sideways under the water. The cold water sluices down off of them, warm water soaking into their skin in its place. He rubs her back up, and down, slow and steady. She sighs.

The shaking starts to die down first. The trembling in her elbows, in her knees, that lessens; then, her hands and her ankles, until her chest is just sending out shakes every couple of seconds. He’s settling, too, the more she warms up, heart slowing down, his own rattling hands starting to smooth out. When he grips her by the chin and tips her head up, he can see that the color’s coming back to her face. She’s got pink coming into her cheeks, her lips; her eyes seem a little clearer, a little brighter. He rubs her arms a little roughly.

“How you feeling?” he asks quietly. She tips her chin up a little bit more, and he drops his head down, kissing her softly. He only allows it for a moment before tuckering her head underneath his chin, stroking her hair back from her face.

“B—Better,” she manages to get out. Another shake rattles her, and he turns her into the water a little more. He twists the knob, pushing the heat up a little bit, and she sighs again, her shoulders starting to slump and relax.

“You swear?” Jim asks. “You’re not just saying that?”

“No, I’m not just s—saying that,” she gets out. She turns her face fully into his chest, nuzzling her face in there, heedless of the water streaming over her face or the fact that he can  _ not  _ smell good after the day he’s had.

“Want me to scrub you down?” Jim asks.

“In a minute,” she murmurs. “Lemme warm up f—first.”

He keeps rubbing her back and her arms and lets her push in close, water pushing hot over her everywhere he’s not surrounding her, keeping her safe and warm.

* * *

Joyce keeps her eyes closed as Jim helps her out of the bathtub and back out onto her bath mat. The shag rug is warm with humidity under her bare feet; she leans into him as he twists the water off, the two of them dripping onto the square of carpet.

“Sit down for me here,” Jim’s low, rumbling voice tells her. She nods, letting him guide her to sit down on the closed toilet seat again. He dries her hair a little too roughly with the towel, but she doesn’t complain; it’s much gentler than how he dries his own, and she knows he’s trying to get her in dry clothes as fast as he can. She wishes she had a hair dryer, but the one she busted a few years back has never been replaced. She settles for letting him scrub her down.

Jim makes quick work of her, patting down every inch of her skin until she’s completely dry. She starts to shiver again, the warm water cooling, but Jim doesn’t let her get too cold.

“C’mon,” he says, wrapping another towel around her and rubbing her shoulders. She lets him guide her down the hall to their bedroom; their laundry is freshly done from yesterday, and he knows exactly which of her pajama sets is her favorite. She drops her head into her hand, leaning over on the bed, nearly slumped into a small pile of limbs. The fabric of her pajamas brushes over her skin, and she yawns, blinking open her eyes.

“All hands on deck,” she says, lifting her arms up. He snorts a laugh, helping her to stand up again so he can help her into new underwear and the soft pajama pants. She grips his shoulder tight to keep from falling over.

“You should’ve just stayed where you were,” Jim says quietly. Joyce has been waiting for this. “If you passed out with Will and he couldn’t get you to the gas station—”

“But I d—didn’t,” Joyce says.

“But you could have,” he reminds her. He pulls her arms through the sleeves of her shirt and starts buttoning it up for her. His big hands are everywhere, warm skin  _ everywhere,  _ even through his towel. He kisses the side of her head, right near her temple, softly, before going to grab his own clothes from her dresser. He has a drawer there; she doesn’t think about it a lot, but she _ likes _ that drawer.

He’s got sweatpants and an old t-shirt on, some threadbare green thing, when he comes back to kneel in front of her again. She recognizes the set of his jaw, the firm,  _ ‘I have something I need to say and I need you to listen,’  _ expression fixed on his face. When she leans forward, he reaches up, cupping her face in his hand.

“Joyce, I can’t let anything happen to you,” Jim tells him. Solid as ever. Joyce wants to fall into him and never let him go, never  _ be  _ let go. “I  _ can’t,  _ do you hear me? And what I’m saying to you?”

“I hear you, Hop,” Joyce says, smiling at him. He strokes his thumb over the upturned edge of her lips, the smile-lines of her face.

“I love you so much,” Jim tells her. It takes her a second to process what he’s said, but then she’s looking up at him with eyes wide, heart pounding instead of the cold, sluggish beat she’d had before.

“What?” she asks.

“I love you,” he says again. He laughs, self-conscious and dry and nervous as he starts to pull away. He tells her, “I’m sorry, that really was not the best time to—”

Joyce surges forwards, catching Jim’s face in her small hands and kissing him as hard as she can manage. She still feels weak, exhausted and slow and still with ice seeped into her bones, but she’s warming up more by the second. Jim tends to have that effect on her.

When they separate, she inhales deeply, exhales slowly, and says, “I love you, too.”

He kisses her soft, quiet. When they pull apart again, he brushes her short hair out for her. Each stroke over her scalp is relaxing, the relief palpable as it rushes through her system in warm waves. He keeps brushing, careful, rhythmic, even, until all the snarls are gone.

“You should get some sleep,” Jim tells her. “You’ve had a big day.”

“I’m not that tired,” she says. It’s not entirely true, but she doesn’t want to get in bed while everyone else is still out and up. Distantly, she hears the front door open and then slam shut; Jonathan’s voice calls hello to Will and Jane

Jim catches the look on her face when she glances towards the door and towards the sound. “You up for movie night still, then?” he asks instead.

“I think so,” she agrees. He stands, groaning when his knee cracks just because he knows it’ll make her laugh (and it does). She’s not expecting him to scoop her up again, but he does anyways, right into his arms, bridal-style. “I can walk just fine now, you know.”

“Well, you can never be too careful,” Jim says. “One of the cardinal rules of first aid.”

“Is it?”

“I don’t know,” he replies. She laughs again, burying her face in the soft, worn fabric of his t-shirt.

“Mom, are you okay?” Jonathan asks once they’re out in the hall, his voice ringing hard and high with concern. “Will and El were just telling me everything, what happened with the car? I’m so,  _ so  _ sorry, I’m so sorry I couldn’t help—”

“What could you have done?” Joyce asks. He frowns, hovering as Jim takes her to the couch and sets her down on one end, beside Will. She lets her head fall to rest on his shoulder, and he lets her; he even lets her tangle their fingers together in her lap.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Will asks. Joyce nods. “I’m sorry ab—”

“Stop that, both of you,” Joyce cuts him off. “You did just fine.”

“But—”

“I think Mom said it’s time for movie night!” Jim exclaims, clapping his hands together. When she glances up at him, he winks, overly dramatic. Jane snorts a laugh just like Jim’s. “What’re we thinking? Whose turn is it this week?”

“My turn,” Jane exclaims, sitting up excitedly on Will’s other side. She looks to Joyce then and, after a beat, she says, “But Mom can pick instead.”

_ Mom.  _ The way Jim said it, the way Jane said it, just like how Will and Jonathan say it. Her family.

“Nah, you pick,” Joyce says. “I’ll just make you watch  _ The Dark Crystal  _ again.”

“God, no.” Jim picks up a bunch of blankets off the end of the sofa and piles them up on top of Joyce until she can barely see past them, wrapped up in layers and layers of warm, soft fabric. He settles down on her other side, letting his arm fall around her so she can snuggle further into his side. He leans past her to nudge Jane. “You pick the movie, kid. Something good, show some taste.”

“I have taste,” Joyce argues. She’s already starting to get sleepy, but she doesn’t really mind.

Jonathan crams himself onto the couch at the other end, leaving just enough room for Jane to wriggle her way back into her spot when she returns. The VHS case for  _ Little Shop of Horrors  _ sits open in front of the television as she eagerly turns the volume up on the remote control. Will squeezes Joyce’s hand, and Jim kisses the crown of her head.

“Yeah, well,” Jim says, “I’ll believe it when I see it.” He kisses her temple again, pushing her dry hair out of the way, and tells her, “Get some sleep. I’ve gotcha.”

She knows he does. She relaxes into him again and lets herself drift off to the movie.

**Author's Note:**

> You can (and should!) come chat with me on Twitter at [@nicole__mello](https://twitter.com/nicole__mello)!


End file.
